


King of Hearts

by the_cloud_whisperer



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thorin Lives, First Kiss, M/M, thorin is an angstmuffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle is won, but it is no victory to Thorin if he has lost his heart in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Thorin thinks his hobbit is dead, but Bilbo proves him wrong, and they reconcile amid gratuitous heart metaphor-ing.
> 
> 12/27/14: slight edits made for word choice / missing words. Thanks for reading!

Pale eyes float by, pale as the ice that now entombs Azog the Defiler. Thorin leans heavily on the elf prince's sword, the debt repaid now and perhaps many times over. Fili had told him of how Thranduil's son and the female captain had routed the Orcs from Bard's house and healed Kili's leg wound.

 _Fili…_ the sudden pain in his core almost brings Thorin to his knees as he realizes that his nephew lies dead, stabbed through by Azog's foul offspring. As Azog's unseeing eyes disappear beneath the hardened sheet of ice, Thorin bitterly wishes he could have drawn more blood, hacked off another limb, let the blue and black gore flow until the Orc was cursing for an end to the agony…to repay the agony now wrenching Thorin's heart.

The fight has left him disoriented and dizzy; his thoughts come in short bursts, like the spurts of gold from Thror's statue, the metallic flux waxing 'til the gold rushed over the dragon's head, gold that did himself far more harm than it did to the worm.

_Kili. Dwalin. The company. Dain. How many lie fallen now?_

_Bilbo._

He spins around and darts toward the path leading down the crag. The battle plain before Erebor swarms with bloodletting still, but it can wait. His burglar is defenseless, somehow dashing unapprehended, across a battlefield to deliver a warning…

…to a wretched dwarf-king who nearly cast his burglar to his death.

 _What business have I being a king when I cannot even listen to reason? And after that debacle, surely he shall want no business of being_ my _burglar, or indeed,_ anything _to me._

Thorin draws closer to the rocky recess where Bilbo stumbled upon him and Dwalin. Of his fellow dwarf there is no sign, but his breath catches as he registers a supine figure lying on the ground, still as death.

_No._

_Bilbo,_ is all he can think desperately as he drops his sword and shield and races toward the Halfling.

_Another dead on my account. And I never had a chance to beg his forgiveness, to even harbor the possibility that we might once more be…_

He falls to his knees beside the tiny, unmoving figure, reaching out a hand as if to wipe away a trickle of blood from Bilbo's temple. His hand, so steady with a sword in it, is shaking far too hard, and he lets it fall, brushes against a ragged sleeve and clenches upon itself.

 _Be what?_ he asks himself. Even in his crazed gold-fever, he had gravitated towards the hobbit, wanting to protect him, wanting to cradle him close and card his fingers through those unruly curls and, and _kiss him,_ Mahal above, kiss those thin lips now blue without blood, those small hands clutching a burnished acorn, and now…

"I am sorry," he chokes out. "Sorry that, in this life nor the next, I cannot take back the hurt I caused you. Bilbo…please, know that I never meant to banish you from my side. If I had been in my right mind, I would never have forced you to leave. I would have treasured you forever, I would have given up all the wealth of Erebor, if only I could keep you by my side. But now you are gone, where I cannot follow."

Thorin bows his head. Tears drop onto the sleeve of Bilbo's jacket, each one like a tiny, glimmering Arkenstone, mocking him for valuing a cursed jewel above his dear hobbit.

_Once, I thought you gone. Fled from the goblin tunnels, abandoning the quest. But you kept your word, and I have not. I spoke out of anger then, and even so today, and you have repaid me with nothing but good intention._

"Bilbo Baggins," he weeps. "Goodbye."

He lifts his head, opens his eyes to find Bilbo's deep blue gaze regarding him softly.

"Nope," Bilbo says. "At least not quite yet."

 _How?_ "Bilbo?" Thorin breathes. "You, you're…" 

"Should probably check for a pulse before assuming the worst," Bilbo continues in that sheepish tone he uses when he's nervous. "Or check for breathing, vitals, that sort of thing, save you a lot of grief in—"

Thorin cuts him off by clasping one hand to Bilbo's cheek, and it _is_ warm, the faint tickle of the hobbit's breath on the palm of his hand a welcome sensation. And because Thorin is tired, of seeing his loved ones cut down before him, of fighting constantly to protect the wrong things, and most of all of fighting himself and what he feels for this beautiful, miraculous hobbit—he curls his other hand behind Bilbo's head and kisses him.

It is warm and tender, close and comforting, and Bilbo recovers quickly from slack-jawed surprise to return the kiss with fervor. Fingers clumsy with cold slip into Thorin's hair, anchoring him more than just physically, and it is all kinds of good and _right,_ better than the first time he hefted a sword or crafted a gem, better than the halls of his fathers, better than the gleam of the Arkenstone—

His lips fall still under Bilbo's, and the hobbit blinks, cups the hand still curved around his face tentatively. "Thorin? What's wrong?"

Thorin squeezes his eyes shut, trying to distance himself from the way Bilbo looked, when he took out his anger on his burglar. No matter; his mind's eye only supplies a clearer image. "I wronged you, Bilbo," he gasps. "Cursed you when you only sought to save me from myself, reviled you and nearly killed you. I do not deserve you, Bilbo. I am not the dwarf you vouched for, there in Laketown. I am far lesser than he."

His eyes remained closed, unable to witness the disgust and renouncement that must be spreading across Bilbo's face, until two feather-light kisses are dropped across his trembling eyelids.

"Thorin, you didn't see clearly, before. You could only see that stone and everything you thought it meant. Now hobbits don’t have a king or anything, but if we did, his right to rule wouldn't be based on a jewel. It would come from his honor, keeping his promises, apologizing for his mistakes, and setting them right." He brushes a thumb across Thorin's lips. "We'll make a king of you yet, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin loves the sound of Bilbo's voice forming his name. What he would not give to hear that voice all of his waking hours, and in his sleep as well. But that, well, that is contingent upon many things.

"Then…I am forgiven?" he asks hesitantly.

"More than forgiven," Bilbo says sincerely. "Come here."

It should be odd, Thorin thinks as he leans awkwardly into Bilbo's embrace, that his hobbit, this gentle creature of home and hearth should be the one to make him strong and keep him right. But in truth, no one else could.

"Hobbits may have no king," he says, drawing away slightly to face his hobbit. "And I know that this is no place for it, with Erebor barely retaken and the dead unnumbered." _Fili…Kili._ "But I must ask: would you take me as yours, Bilbo Baggins?"

Bilbo is speechless for a moment. "You as…my king?" he manages in his confusion. "Thorin…"

"You need not answer me now," Thorin says hastily. "But one day, I promise, I will ask you again, Bilbo. I swear it, upon my heart." So that there can be no doubt as to the honor and the intent of his word, he places a hand over Bilbo's chest, over his heart. The Heart of the Mountain is stone cold, but Thorin's heart, Bilbo's, is life itself.

Bilbo presses his hand to Thorin's. "Thorin, you must know…whenever you ask, the answer is yes. I—" He breaks off wordlessly, but Thorin knows. He pulls Bilbo into another kiss, and now…

Now he will rule and be ruled in turn, the king of his heart more steadfast than any foundation laid by dwarves.

Bilbo Baggins, king of my heart.

He likes the sound of that.


End file.
